Je Ne Te Mangerai Pas
by Riding A Tiger In Outer Space
Summary: Moriarty/Moran. Sebastian loves the feeling of firing a gun. He craves the hunt. Jim comes along and fixes it. Time to go wolf hunting. A different take on how Seb meets Jim for the first time.  Strange and violent and dirty. Not my usual headcanon.  M/M


Title: Je Ne Te Mangerai Pas (The Wolf's Cha Cha)

Notes: Requested fill for guns and sexiness. Inspired by "Cha Cha Cha du Loup" by Serge Gainsbourg. Admittedly, this went in a very different direction than I intended.

The title is pulled from the second verse in which the 'wolf' tells a young girl it's okay to come closer because he won't eat her (and we all know how THAT turns out). I thought that, in Jim and Seb's relationship, Seb has allowed himself to be completely devoured by his boss (in a nonsexual way that is simultaneously incredibly sexual), but ends up being okay with this.

Summary: Sebastian loves the feeling of firing a gun. He craves the hunt. Civilian life doesn't offer the challenge he needs. Jim comes along and fixes it. Time to go wolf hunting. A different take on how Seb meets Jim for the first time. BBCSherlock meets Battle Royale-esque. It's a little strange, and doesn't jive with the rest of my headcanon, but whatevs. ~Enjoy~

* * *

><p>Whenever he closes his eyes, they rise out of the darkness. Wing and fur and tail. Every kind, the ones he has hunted and the ones who have evaded him, still beckoning in the wild. Glowing eyes through the foliage. Piercing cries in the night air. Descending into the drain to finish off the tiger. Staking out in the trees for the predators. Laying flat in the grass and waiting. Teeth and talons and pain. Worth the long nights and the deep scars. Bone and blood and hide. Worth it, every one.<p>

And then, light. Green. The smell of dirt.

"Boo."

A soft voice. Male. Behind him. He is tied to a chair in what appears to be the middle of the woods. There is a backpack and a rifle in front of him, just out of reach. Someone had been following him. How long ago had that been? The man behind him steps closer, until he is pressing against his back. His cologne is intoxicating, and there is also the smell of gunpowder.

"No sudden movements, now," the man says. Irish accent.

Sebastian can feel the rise and fall of the man's chest against him, the fabric of a suit. A tie brushes against his shoulder as the man leans forward. And something furry.

"We want a fair game, now," he speaks so softly that it is almost a whisper in the leaves. Sebastian exhales louder than he intends, and his breath catches on the inhale. This man makes the air thick.

The leaves on the ground rustle as the man steps lightly around the chair, so that Sebastian can see him. He isn't particularly tall, but everything about him makes the hair on the back of Sebastian's neck stand on end. His suit and shoes are so magnificently black that it gives the impression of a hole having been torn in the air. Fair, soft skin, from what he can see of the man's hands. A forest green shirt and a textured black tie. But the worst part, by far, is the mask. Because Sebastian recognizes it.

"That's mine," he grits, unused to his own voice.

"Really?"

"Where did you get it?"

"That should be obvious," the man drawls, "But, maybe you could tell me what it is? I had thought it was a fox, but it's a bit too big. Now I feel rather stupid."

"South American maned wolf."

"Ah, that's the one. The non-social wolf. I like that idea. Moving around in a pack seems like a good way to get a bullet in your back. I don't think you're supposed to hunt these."

"They aren't endangered."

"But Vulnerable. Like you. Right now. Tied to a chair in the middle of nowhere."

"Do I get to see your face?"

A muffled laugh, "If you can catch me," the man steps towards him, "The game is simple. I'm going to blindfold you in a moment. Then I'm going to run. The time it takes you to untie yourself should give me a decent head start. Then you can have this equipment right here, and you can come and find me."

"And if I don't want to play?"

"That's what the bomb around your neck is for, silly!"

"And what do I get if I find you?"

More laughter. It would be bizarre even without the mask covering it, "A kiss!" More seriously, his voice lowering an octave, "And you get to live, of course."

This feels like a nightmare. It feels wonderful. Sebastian can't remember the last time he felt so good, so ready to pounce, "And how long do I have to find you?"

"You're going to play? Good. I was worried. Most of the others refused. Then there were a few funny ones who couldn't get themselves untied. But no one ever got to me. It's noon right now. You get to have until midnight," he waves, "I should be off," he steps closer to place the blindfold over Sebastian's eyes. Satisfied with his work, he sings "Bye!" and vanishes noiselessly.

As if on cue, ten minutes after the maned wolf man disappears, it begins to rain heavily. Wet rope would have been difficult to untie. Lucky for Sebastian, he's already free and and undoing the blindfold. Standing is strange. His legs feel weak and the forest spins for a few seconds. He takes a moment to gather himself, but wants to waste as little time as possible. Assessing the equipment is the first order of business.

There are binoculars, bottled water, rations, rope, a large Bowie knife, a change of clothes, and a note. With a heart and a series of Xs and Os scrawled across it.

_Hello, darling! I'm so glad you've managed to untie yourself. I would hate for you to be around if the competition decides to pull their shit together and show up. It would be so terribly unfortunate. I've left you a tranquilliser rifle, but sorry, no syringes! You'll have to earn those._

_Love and cuddles,_

_Jimmy_

By the signature there is a faint lip print. Sebastian almost laughs. Almost. But now is not the time to decide whether maned wolf Jim is batshit insane or not, since the note indicates that there will be others wandering the forest looking for the same prize. He slings the backpack over his shoulders and the DAN-INJECT Model JM SPECIAL rifle over it. The Bowie knife, rope, and binoculars he attaches to his belt, then carefully examines his surroundings.

No footprints or any other indications that Jim left by a visible route. Sebastian searches the ground for an entrance to an underground passage, and eventually finds a hatch right in front of his chair, but it is sealed tight from the inside and would be impossible to open with his given resources. He wonders how much of the forest had underground passages, and whether or not Jim was the one who put them there. Regardless, he has no trail to follow. He might as well pick a random direction and hope for the best. Instead, he selects a tree with some sturdy looking branches high up and begins to climb, ever watchful for signs of movement below. So far, it is just him and the rain.

For the first time in months, he feels like himself. His muscles sing with the strain of hauling himself up a tree. Be breathes more deeply; the air tastes amazing. He has sorely missed the sensation of danger, the anticipation of the kill. Let the whole world come down on him. He has a knife and his own two fists to take it.

Sebastian reaches a satisfactory height and roosts amidst the foliage, doing his best to disguise his location to any unseen company. It has been about two hours since Jim left him, and now the sun is giving away which way is west. The forest is in a valley, mountains to the east and mountains to the west. There is a river approximately ten miles east from Sebastian's location. It bypasses a clearing about six miles north. The south is an endless stretch of trees. The clearing in the north seems like the best bet to find...something. Anything. He drinks some water and begins to climb back down. Ten hours to find Jim, and only six hours of light left.

As he gets close to the ground, the creeping feeling that something is wrong gets stronger. Rather than wait to find out what it is, or wait for someone who DOES have ammo to shoot him, he jumps the remainder of the distance. The moment he lands, the bomb that Jim so kindly strapped to his neck starts to beep.

"You got this idea from a fucking movie," Sebastian groans at no one, and spins around. About five yards away, a man steps out of the bushes, looking as if he's about to shit himself. His bomb is beeping as well, "Well what the fuck do you want?"

"That guy in the fox skin is a fucking psychopath!"

"Maned wolf."

The fellow blinks in confusion. Or maybe from the sweat in his eyes, "What?"

"He wasn't wearing a fox skin. It was a maned wolf."

"What the fuck? Whatever! That little shit is trying to blow us up!" The man steps forward. The beeping starts to quicken, "Shit! Shit!"

For the sake of experiment, Sebastian steps closer to the man. Again, the beeping quickens. The panicked man looks at him like he's crazy for coming closer.

"If you get any closer he's going to blow us up!"

Sebastian steps closer anyway. The other man gives up and bolts for it in the direction he came from. He takes about three steps before he explodes.

Sebastian's bomb goes quiet again, the threat apparently over for the moment. There isn't much point in searching the remains. Most of the useful things were either blown up or ruined by a coating of liquid human. He smiles.

* * *

><p>He is really starting to like Jim's game. Sebastian makes a mental note: Rule No. One, Cowards get Killed. After thinking about the scenario for another moment he adds: Rule No. Two, Don't Waste Jim's Time. If the other guy hadn't been so quick to bolt and neither of them moved to kill the other, Jim would have killed both of them. Brilliant. Sebastian decides that the Bowie knife will stay in his hand for the remainder of the game. Kill quick, kill efficiently, find Jim. A worthy check list. He continues north towards the clearing.<p>

The clearing comes in sight just before 16:00:00. There are eight hours left to find Jim, and only four hours of light left. Sebastian approaches the clearing with caution, knowing that it might be a common goal for the competition. They could be hiding behind the trees around the edges, or flat in the high grass. Or maybe they were still tied to their chairs.

Like the guy in the middle of the clearing.

Sebastian ducks into the bushes and takes closer look with the binoculars. Yes. There is a man, young, blond, blindfolded, tied up in the middle of the clearing. He doesn't appear to be moving. Whether or not he is alive is difficult to discern. There is a backpack close to him, possibly with some much needed equipment; syringes for the tranquilliser rifle or, better yet, a real gun and ammunition. Sebastian carries most of his own equipment up a tree and ties it to a well-concealed branch. With him he keeps the Bowie knife and the DAN-INJECT rifle. Jim's note gets stuffed inside his shirt. The rifle remains slung over his back, and he places the knife between his teeth, gets flat on the ground, and starts to crawl through the grass towards his next target. He figures he'll remain hidden until he comes within a few yards of the tied-up man, then dash it the last stretch and slit his throat, take the bag and run for the trees.

Nothing goes according to plan.

Sebastian is barely halfway to the middle of the clearing when his bomb starts beeping again. Someone else had the same plan. Keeping Jim's rules in mind, he leaps up to find the offender as quickly as possible. She reveals her location as well. Nearby, four more bombs start to beep. They're much further away than the range that Sebastian had expected. Quick note: Rule No. Three, More Bombs = Greater Range. The beeps quicken. Time to go to work.

She has a knife as well, and she's smaller and faster than Sebastian. She sprints at him and springs. His knife connects with her stomach. She has the gaul to look surprised when he takes her knife and slits her throat with it.

One down.

Someone else gets the honor of the next kill. Two down.

A crowbar hits the back of Sebastian's neck and he falls forward. The crowbar connects again with his hip before he rolls and slices his attacker's ankles with the smaller knife and rams his Bowie into their pelvis, then their spine. Three down.

Two more coming towards him, running frantically because the beeping has become more of a blaring tone at this point. Sebastian spots the gun and hurls the Bowie at its holder before she can aim. It plunges into her forehead and she collapses. The last one starts hurling darts at him. The syringes that go with his tranquilliser rifle. What a fucker. They run out of darts and dive for the gun. Sebastian throws his second knife and it hits, but doesn't kill. He flings the crowbar and throws himself at the gun. Fires a shot between the last one's eyes, and then spins to put one through the head of the man in the chair, just in case.

Sebastian barely realizes the dart in his left calf and the silence in the clearing before he passes out.

* * *

><p>When he comes to, it's dark. He doesn't know how many hours he's lost. Everything aches, especially the back of his neck. He's covered in blood that mostly isn't his. The gun in his hand has one bullet left. It's best to save it for when it counts. He retrieves his Bowie and wipes the blood on his pant leg. Two syringes are easy enough to find, the rest are lost in the grass. There's still the backpack in the center of the clearing.<p>

It is quite the haul, the reward for the idiot suicidal enough to give away his position to his competition. A digital watch on top of a pile of bandages and antibiotic. It is 22:09:56. Good to know. Beneath the medical kit is a pair of night vision goggles. Sebastian thinks that he might love Jim. His heartbeat quickens when he spotted the note at the bottom of the bag.

_Congratulations! You're still alive! I'm so proud of you, I really am. It was quite the show. I'm all hot and bothered over it, so come find me soon!_

_Your Jimmy_

_P.S. I've disarmed your pretty necklace, so no more worries about exploding before you get to see me. Also, there's something extra for you on the chair. Enjoy!_

Sebastian glances at the seat dead man. Definitely dead. He unties the body and looks around the chair. Sees nothing of use, even with the goggles. Then he looks at the body again.

No.

Jim. What a sick fucker.

He laughs, and buries his Bowie into the corpse. His search reveals an oxy-fuel cutting torch, perfect for breaking into Jim's underground passages. He can't find an entrance in the ground nearby, so it's time to back track. It is 22:14:31. Time to run.

* * *

><p>He takes what supplies he can carry and retrieves his backpack when he reaches the edge of the clearing. From there he runs, rifle in front just in case someone managed to slip by unnoticed by the blood orgy. As he races to relocate the area he started in, Sebastian cannot help but feel like he is being watched. Well of course he knows he's being watched. Jim has probably been observing his toys since the start of the game. But he can't shake the feeling that someone is close, just out of his line of vision.<p>

His start point isn't too hard to find, and he gets there without event at 22:58:47.

He's never used a cutting torch before, and ends up bungling the process of breaking into the passageway a few times before finally cutting a sufficient opening.

It is now 23:35:07. No need to keep Jim waiting anymore.

Something moves in front of him.

Firing a rifle is the most natural thing in the world to Colonel Sebastian Moran. It is the perfect extension of his body. He fires, and the syringe flies. It strikes true, and someone collapses a few yards away. Someone wearing the skin of a maned wolf on his head.

"Jim," Sebastian breathes, suddenly gripped by the reappearance of this intoxicating madman. In front of him. Unconscious. He reaches for the mask, but thinks again and recoils. Not yet.

Rope first. He binds Jim's hands and feet behind his back and tosses the prize over his shoulder, victorious once more. Sebastian Moran, who has bested the most vicious predators in the world, has bested the greatest of them. And he made good time. Twenty minutes early. Prize in hand, he descends into the passageway.

What he had imagined would be an elaborate set of hallways winding under the forest isn't much more than a large hatch full of security monitors. A metal table occupies a corner of the cold room, so he places his Jim down and sits back to bask. He considers untying him, but decides to leave it until he comes to. Again he wants to remove the wolf skin. Again he withdraws at the last moment. He feels flushed and breathless. He's exhausted and sore. He presses his face to Jim's chest. It smells like blood and dirt and sweat and Jim.

Sleep comes easily, but not without dreams.

Whenever he closes his eyes, they rise out of the darkness. Wing and fur and tail. Every kind, the ones he has hunted and the ones who have evaded him, still beckoning in the wild. Glowing eyes through the foliage. Piercing cries in the night air. Descending into the drain to finish off the tiger. Staking out in the trees for the predators. Laying flat in the grass and waiting. Teeth and talons and pain. Worth the long nights and the deep scars. Bone and blood and hide. Worth it, every one.

And there is Jim. Faceless and pale, his body a black tear in the air. Running through the night. Just within reach. Cool to touch but hot to kiss. Like a snake and like a bird and like a wolf. If Jim is mounted on his wall, he will never need to hunt again. Anything else would feel empty in comparison, already a hide before it has been skinned. The broken bones and scars and blood. All worth it. He has Jim.

Sebastian wakes on the floor, tangled on the floor and confused. He looks eagerly to the table where Jim is waiting, awake but still bound, face still covered.

"Sounds like you were having an interesting dream," says the soft voice, sounding dazed still from the dart.

"The same one I have every night," Sebastian responds, "But with some new beasties."

"How does that Blake poem go again?" Jim muses.

Sebastian lifts himself from the floor, kneeling by Jim like an altar. He reaches for Jim's tie and starts to remove it, "Tiger, tiger, burning bright in the forests of the night, what immortal hand," he pulls the tie away, "Or eye," begins to unbutton Jim's forest green oxford, "Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"

He is overwhelmed by the soft expanse of pale skin ready for his touch, and he finds that he cannot lay a hand on it. The gun. The gun is the extension of his arm. The gun, smooth and cold, is worthy of Jim's flesh. He reaches for the gun with its single bullet, and presses it to Jim's chest.

Jim hisses. Sebastian wants to see his face. But still not yet.

He drags the barrel over Jim's pearl pink nipples, and again Jim cannot catch the moans in his throat. Jim arches, straining against the rope tying back his arms, also desperate for touch. Soon. At the same time.

Jim is shivering but beings to speak, "In what distant deeps or skies burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire?" He literally whimpers when Sebastian pushes the barrel into the waistband of Jim's trousers.

Sebastian can't stand it anymore. Jim has asked him to seize the fire, and he obeys. Hand shaking, he tears the wolf skin from Jim's face, and shatters him with a forceful kiss before he even looks. Jim surges up into him, and they are chest to chest with the gun trapped between them, Sebstian still kneeling and Jim still bound and unable to touch.

Sebastian tears away from Jim's mouth and bites into his exposed shoulder, still not raising his eyes to Jim's face, "And what shoulder and what art could twist the sinews of thy heart?" Where the gun had touches down before, he places his mouth to warm the cold. To Jim's neck and nipples and smooth stomach, "And when thy heart began to beat," He placed the gun on the floor next to his bent knee, and began to untie Jim, "What dread hand," Jim's hands now free fly to Sebastian's face, trying to force him to raise his eyes, "and what dread feet?" With freed feet, Jim twists to wrap his legs around Sebastian, to bring himself down to the floor or bring Sebastian onto the table. They both end up on the floor, kissing ferociously and unable to breathe. Sebastian is lightheaded and Jim is trying to redirect his gaze but he will not allow it.

Jim tears away Sebastian's blood soaked shirt and thrusts against him, shutting his eyes and gasping at the hard heat of cock he can feel even through two sets of clothing. Sebastian cannot remember the last time he was this aroused, "What the hammer?" he growls, grinding against Jim. He is enthralled. He is bound to Jim because there is nothing else to hunt after him, "What the chain?" The excitement of the kill. The need to fuck.

Again he reaches of the gun, this time placing it in Jim's slack mouth. Jim gladly runs his tongue over it, sucks the metal, the metal that Sebastian killed with mere hours ago. He allows himself to look at Jim's mouth, but no further. He barely whispers, watching hot life surrounding cool death, "In what furnace was thy brain?"

Placing the gun by his side again, he and Jim only part briefly to remove the rest of their clothing. When bare, all hide, they return to touch, to press, the need and knead. Sebastian again takes up the gun and runs it down Jim's spine as he takes Jim's cock in his other hand. Jim moans, "What the anvil? What dread grasp," the gun descends to the cleft of his arse, "Dare its deadly terrors," he shudders and presses his forehead to Sebastian's shoulder, thrusting into his hand, shivering at the contact of the gun, "Clasp!" he shouts, rutting twice more before he comes, splattering cum on Sebastian's hand and stomach. He breathes heavily, gasping, as if he has never tasted the air before.

When he is recovered, he slides down Sebastian's body, taking his cock in mouth. Sebastian huffs, "When the stars threw down their spears, and water'd heaven with their tears," he stops short to moan, arching to drive himself deeper into Jim's mouth. He grabs at the sides of Jim's head as he comes down his throat, shaking harder than any previous orgasm had caused him to do.

As he lay back flat, Jim slid back up, pinning Sebastian's head with his hands, forcing him to look now, at what he had killed for. Sebastian stared at his dark eyes and strangely sweet face and murmurs, "Did He smile His work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee?"

The both laugh, gazing at each other intently. Sebastian closes his eyes for a moment to burn the image into his mind. He hears the hammer click. When he opens his eyes, Jim is still straddling his hips, but is holding the loaded gun, with its single bullet, to Sebastian's head.

"Congratulations," he smiles.

"Are you going to kill me?" Sebastian asks, more amused than afraid. If he could pick any moment in his life to die, now would be perfect. He had killed, hunted, claimed his prize, and had been claimed. There are worse ways to die.

Jim laughs. The laugh that had sounded so bizarre beneath the wolf mask was bright and surreal, "Kill you? No, not yet. No, I'm going to hire you."

"Hire me?"

"To be my hunter. My killer. Earlier, when you sliced through all of your obstacles with nothing but a Bowie and a grin on your face. I came without even laying a hand on myself. If you refuse me I will have no choice but to kill you, rid the planet of your plague."

Sebastian looks at Jim again, no longer scared of it, "In what world would I possibly say no to you? Tell me who to kill and they are dead. It is done. Anything. Anything if it will be like this, every day."

"Which part?"

"The hunt."


End file.
